The text read “Any chance you will
reconsider speaking on the family’s behalf at your grandfather’s funeral?”…love
mom.
My grandfather died in December and
the memorial services are this month. My grandfather and I were never close.
Not to say that I didn’t spend a lot of time with him growing up, we just weren’t
close. He was always very clear that I was a source of disappointment to him
starting with conception. My grandfather hated my father and never let an
opportunity go by without reminding me that everything he deemed bad in me I
inherited my father. My choices were always foolish in his mind. Moving to
Europe was foolish and disrespectful to this country, divorcing my wife was
stupid because she was so great and I would never find someone as good,
starting my own business was an attempt to not have to hold down a job. He was
a never ending wealth of stupid and hurtful comments. But I kept coming back
for more.
In my 20’s I could do whatever I
wanted and I prided myself on not taking shit from anyone. However every year I
drove to Arizona and visited my grandparents. I bit my tongue and focused on
building a relationship with them and to a certain extent I succeeded. I
avoided certain topics and ignored the “N” word and “fagot” every time he said
it. I played along because I desperately wanted their approval. Believe it or
not I wanted my grandfather to be proud of me.
By the time I was 26 I was in a
relationship and running my business. I advertised that my company was gay
owned and operated and I was years beyond pretending I was anything but who I
was. Except around my grandparents. My mother came to visit and we drove out to
Arizona to see my grandparents. This visit felt different. It felt as if my
grandfather could speak of nothing else, he was obsessed with the “fagots” and
how they were this or that. I felt like a fraud, how could I sit here and
ignore this when in my real life I would have annihilated this moronic
blowhole. So with careful consideration I sat them down and told them I was
gay. I didn’t ask for their support or acceptance just their respect when
around me. “I thought it was only fair that you have this information so you
could think before you speak when you are around me.” He looked at the floor
and then to my mom and said. “Billy you are ours and we love you.” We sat down
to dinner and my grandmother asked “this man your with, he’s not colored is he?”
and my grandfather slammed his fist on the table queuing the end of the
conversation.
So I went home and believed that a
miracle had happened. They actually accept me and we don’t have to play pretend
anymore. I think it took me almost 6 months before I realized I had been
disowned. The birthday card never arrived, then Thanksgiving came and when I
called to arrange my annual trip to their house for Thanksgiving, they ignored
me. No Christmas card etc. A few years went by and it was clear that I no
longer existed to them. I was hurt but chalked it up to a casualty of being
honest with who you are, not everyone will like it.
The rift between my grandparents
and I bled into my relationship with my mother. We fought about it like crazy
and it brought up all kinds of history that we both thought had been buried.
Why aren’t you standing up for me? Why didn’t you stand up for me when I was kid?
Suddenly I was furious with her. We didn’t speak for 6 months. It was awful.
Last year I received a card from my
grandparents telling me that my mother wasn’t speaking to them because she felt
that they did not accept me and they wanted me to know that they loved me even
though they didn’t agree with my lifestyle. I cried. Then I wrote them a letter
and explained to them that we a simply different and that’s ok. I said I loved
them and decided we had resolved the issue as best as we could.
A few days after Thanksgiving this
past year I was in Arizona standing at his hospital bedside. I found myself
alone with him and I was frozen. He was in an induced coma and this could be
the last time I would see him alive. I reached for his hand then pulled away; I
was fighting to connect and desperately wanted to feel what I thought I should
feel. I told him I loved him and walked out of the room.
The funeral takes place in a couple
weeks in Phoenix. When my mother first asked me to speak I said I would because
I knew it was important to her. I sat down and stared at a blank screen for
hours trying to come up with something to say that felt organic and true yet
still positive. I felt like a fraud. I wasn’t going to miss him and I couldn’t
think of one funny story or a bonding moment that I shared with him. The more I
labored over this thing the more I started feeling resentful. Why am I doing
this? He doesn’t deserve this from me.
I drank a bottle of wine and then
called my mother and told her I wasn’t going to do it. I explained that I was
struggling with it and that I didn’t want to get up there in front of our whole
family and all of my grandfather’s friends and lie. I would go to the funeral
and sit silent and stand beside her and then it was over. There was a part of
me that felt like everything about me and my love of words and my need to be
expressive were all things that he hated and insulted me for. I thought of
being a kid and running to the bathroom to cry into the towels every time we
visited them. He was cruel and I wouldn’t betray that kid by honoring my grandfather
with my words.
My mother was disappointed but she
understood. It came up a couple more times but she knew not to push. Then this
morning the text message arrived. I hate not doing what my mother wants me to
do which is why I always struggle when she pushes. I want to do whatever I can
to make this funeral easier for her and I promise that I have put a lot of
thought into my decision. But now…. I find myself reconsidering.
